Yesterday is the Same as Today, but Already Over
by Jace22
Summary: Things have been weird between them since Sam pushed Dean off of him and shouted that hedidn’t want to be a freak anymore. SamDean


**Fandom**: Supernatural

**Title**: Yesterday is the Same as Today, but Already Over

**Rating**: R (Language and sexual situations)

**Pairing**: Sam/Dean

**Summary:** Things have been weird between them since Sam pushed Dean off of him and shouted that he  
didn't want to be a freak anymore.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the boys. Life's not fair, I know.

**Notes**: Spoilers for "Bugs" (there's not really much to spoil) I've...made adjustments to certain scenes. Heh.

This came out to be fucking long. Longest one-shot I've ever written. I do know some people love longer fics, though, so enjoy! But boy did this take a lot out of me.

I'd like to thank **moonfairyhime** for betaing this loves

Yesterday is the Same as Today, but Already Over

They've hit a sort of dry spell since the Hookman, and Sam can tell that Dean's getting restless. He's been hitting up every bar with a pool table that they've come across. Sam looks down on hustling pool, but Dean keeps saying, "It's the only way we're gonna earn money, man. I am _not_ becoming a fucking waiter or pizza delivery boy. No way."

Sam pores over the paper every day, reading everything closely, not letting himself skim over the words even when they become boring and repetitive, which they often do. You read about one murder, you've read about a thousand. It's looking for the small detail, the part that screams _abnormal_ that you have to look for.

Sam reads about a woman in Oregon whose children kept dying, one after another, but then he reads on and sees that it was sort of a Woman in White syndrome. Scorned woman taking it out on her children. Sam shakes his head, the world is a fucked up place. Why do people hurt the ones they love when everywhere people like himself and Lori are losing people they love to things out of their control?

"Hey," Dean says, coming out from the bar. "Anything?"

Sam shakes his head, "Nothing."

Dean shrugs, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "It's cool, I'm sure there'll be something soon."

Sam wonders when they're going to find their father, but he doesn't say anything, because it's not like Dean will have an answer.

X

_It was dead quiet when they walked into the house. The air around Sam felt cold and leaden with danger. He could have sworn he could hear whispering around him, but he wrote it off as his imagination playing tricks on him. It did that sometimes._

The silence was broken when they walked up stairs. Hushed voices carried faintly from the room farthest down the hall. His father strode up to the door purposefully and knocked lightly on it. Suddenly, the voices stopped, and the door opened.   
That's when Sam saw the girl.

She was lying on the bed, it looked like they'd tried to tie her down, and it reminded of the The Exorcism. _Sam had seen_ The Exorcism _as a kid. He fought the instinctual reaction of covering his eyes, because he knew he was going to have to see a lot more of that. Dean had stories about exorcisms that could make his skin crawl—some that Dean had seen first hand, and others that he'd read about. He had this way of making the ones he read about even scarier than they were. A master story-teller, his father sometimes said with pride. He could always hold an audience captive._

Some things never change, Sam supposes.

Sam hadn't been allowed to see an actual exorcism take place until then. Since he was little he'd been told that he'd have to wait till he was older. His father's reason for that being, "Some things you have to work your way up to, Sam. You're a strong kid, you've seen a lot of things, but the older you get, the easier things will be. Things like seeing an exorcism take place."

For lack of anything better to do, Sam had nodded his head meekly, and asked Dean about it later. "Why are exorcisms such a big deal? Why does Dad want me to wait to see one?"

"Sammy, some things are hard to stomach at first—until you've worked up to it. It's hard to see a person go through an exorcism, it's painful. Be glad you don't have to see one and that we aren't usually the ones to do them."

Sam was grateful that Dean sat down and explained it to him like that, without making him feel stupid, so he hadn't complained. Dean was right, they rarely ever did them, but once in a blue moon, when Dean and his dad went to perform one, Sam's imagination would run wild.

The one they were performing today was the first one they'd done in a few years. They were getting paid for this one, Sam knew. This was one job his father had been more than a little wary to take. Usually people tried their priests for these things, but they'd helped out this man before, and he said he trusted them to do the job. At first Sam's father had refused, but after listening for a moment he'd agreed. Dean said they were probably getting paid a lot, so they should be grateful for this.

Sam had been a little excited at first. But now, feeling the eerie silence around them, seeing the looks in the peoples eyes as they watched them enter the room, Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to be old enough to see this.

"Whatever you do," Dean whispered to him, breaking the terrifying silence, "Don't look into her eyes."  
Why not? Sam wanted to ask, but Dean had already moved into the room.

X

Things are still a little weird between them. They have been since Sam pushed Dean off of him and yelled that he didn't want to be a freak anymore, and letting Dean kiss him that way was part of it. Part of being a freak. Dean had pulled his arm back like he was going to punch him, but he'd lowered it after a moments pause. He'd hit Sam before, but never in a situation like that, and Sam supposes he didn't want to start then.

_You left me_ Dean sometimes says, accusingly, with his eyes. Sam pretends he doesn't hear, but the truth is he does. He's always known how to read Dean's eyes and smiles. Sam's become so good at pretending that he doesn't hear the thoughts that Dean's sending to him, that he's almost started fooling himself too.

When Dean insists on going off on his own at night, Sam knows he's doubtlessly getting laid, and it bothers him, but he pretends it doesn't.

He's good at pretending. Just ask Jess.

X

"_You might want to leave the room." Sam's father said quietly to the people who were seated around the bed. It was more an order than a suggestion, so the two men and the woman—her father, her uncle, and her mother—rose and walked out the door. The woman shot a worried look behind her and looked as though she were about to say something, before her husband grabbed her hand and shut the door behind them._

The girl started making low, guttural sounds that sent shivers down Sam's spine. She didn't look too abnormal, not at first glance anyway. She just looked sick; her skin was pale and looked a bit damp, her face haggard, her bones visible through her skin. Dean had explained before that they sometimes looked like that when they weren't eating.

Sickly fascinated, Sam stepped closer to the bed to get a better look as his father began reciting something that sounding foreign, Latin maybe. Sam couldn't tell, he was too transfixed by…by her eyes, and he hadn't even realized how close he had gotten until the voices started. And he heard Dean shout something.

Then there was darkness. 

X

Before Jess, Sam dated a girl named Colleen. Colleen had really shiny brown hair; he'd call it glossy, but it was more than that. Colleen had a million dollar smile and her confidence was killer. She was unabashed, shameless, and always spoke her mind. She gave no thought to the questions she asked, and she knew how to press for details to find out exactly what she wanted to know.

She hadn't found out about hunting, but she'd come pretty close from asking about his family so much, especially about Dean.

"I don't get it, why'd you have a falling out with your family?" She'd said, taking one of Sam's fries off his plate and dipping it into his ketchup. Sam wished that she would just take a handful and pour her own ketchup, if she was going to keep taking his fries, instead of constantly reaching over. It was distracting, and he was trying to concentrate on how to answer the question without her finding out about Dean—or at least the fucked up parts of his life that had to do with Dean.

He watched her take a bite of the fry and then look at him insistently.

When he didn't answer, she cried "Sam!" Half the fry still dangled in her hand as she used it to emphasize her 'what's gotten into you, you idiot? Hurry up and answer my question' look.

"Oh," He blinked, "Sorry. Just, um. Why'd I have a falling out with my family?" He repeated slowly. "Well, you know, it was just one of those classic father-son fights about the future. He wanted me to do one thing, I wanted to do another. I'm sure we'll get over it. Eventually." Not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth. Just the way Sam…well, not liked it, but was used to.

She lowered her eyes and said dubiously, "That doesn't make much sense, I mean, most dads would be thrilled that their son was going to be a lawyer. I mean, my ex-boyfriend," Oh _yeah_ that had been one of the reasons for their breakup. She was always going on about ex-boyfriends and comparing Sam to them. Bitch. "Kyle, you know, the art major? Well, _his_ father wanted him to be a lawyer, but as you know he's into his whole art thing, so his father kept threatening to stop helping him financially."

"And did he?" Sam asked, not really caring about the answer, just annoyed that she thought it was okay to bring up her stupid ex-boyfriend and then not finish her pointless story. Just proving she was trying to make him jealous. Again.

She looked at him exasperatedly, "I don't _know_ I broke up with him before I could find out. To go out with you, dipshit."

She's smarter than she sounds, really. Last Sam checked she wanted to be a lawyer, too; she was damn persuasive when she wanted to be. That's how she'd gotten Sam to go out with her in the first place.

"So, anyway, you didn't answer my question. Why was your dad so mad at you? Did he want you to become a doctor or something? Or did you originally want to do something else, like art, and then changed your mind and you didn't tell me? But then wouldn't you guys have reconciled?"

"No!" Sam cried to get her to stop. She didn't forget anything, did she? Not even when she went off on her own stories. Then, more carefully, he said, "No. Dad and I said things during the fight that have caused a lot of bad feelings on both sides. It was a lot of things in one. He didn't want me to go to Stanford, I liked it here. He has this weird thing about me being a lawyer…I don't know, it's just crazy."

"What about Dean?" She said.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, your brother. What's he doing?"

"He's…following in my father's footsteps. Continuing the family business."

"Ohhh. So that's it. Your father wanted you to be a part of the business, but you didn't want to. Is that it? Am I right?"

Sam nodded quickly, wondering why he hadn't thought to say that. It was perfect. "Dean's the favorite. The one who my dad takes the most pride in. Never had any issues with _Dean_, just me." He hoped that he looked pathetic and worn out enough that she wouldn't have any follow up questions. He wasn't a court case, he was her boyfriend.

She nodded sympathetically and rested her hand on his; he smiled at her. He was so getting laid tonight.

X

_Right before Sam woke up, he heard a ringing sound. It sounded like a fading voice that wouldn't stop echoing. He vaguely recalled being blamed for something, seeing eyes that he couldn't look away from—eyes that gripped him. He heard a scream in his head before he pried his eyes open._

He hurt all over, and when he looked at his arm he saw bruises.

"I had to hold you down." Dean said from the chair next to his bed. He'd pulled over one of the two big chairs that were by the desk on the other side of the room. That's when Sam realized where he was, not that he hadn't had an idea before. Motel rooms were more recognizable then Sam's actual bedroom. He never really wondered where he was when he woke up; he was pretty much waking up in the same place he'd been waking up for years.

"Why?" He asked, a yawn distorting the word.

Dean heard, though, "You looked into its eyes. It latched onto your mind, started telling you things."

"How do you know?" 

"Because you were arguing with it. You starting clawing at your head; I had to hold you down to make you stop while Dad got rid of it."

Sam leaned back in the bed, "I didn't mean to."

Dean looked at him sharply, "No one's saying you did, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy." Sam mumbled, and that was going to be the first time of many that he would say that to Dean.

Dean just blinked at him, "Since when did calling you Sammy become a problem?"

"It's just…a kids name. I'm almost sixteen."

"Oh, I get it. You're feeling all insecure because you think you botched the exorcism. Look, Sam," He said, carefully emphasizing Sam's name, "We all screw up sometimes. And you're okay, so why dwell? Sometimes these things—they get you, and all you can do is make sure you stick with me and Dad, because when we're around we can help. Same goes for Dad and me. We have to all stick together." Dean was looking at him intently, and it made Sam wonder if Dean somehow knew about his dream, about his plan to go to college in two years.

Sam didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say. He'd screwed up. He was always screwing up.

"I'm not cut out for this, Dean."

"What are you talking about, man?" Dean moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He leant against Sam's leg, and for some reason this made Sam's skin tingle. The sensation scared him more than anything. "You're great at what we do."

"Yeah, but Dean. I think there's more to life than this. At least, for me there is. I'm not like you and Dad."

They sat in silence for the longest time, and Sam wondered what Dean was thinking. He didn't look angry, a little upset maybe, but not angry.

"Dean—" 

"Do you remember what she said?" Dean turned and moved up the bed a little, closer to Sam.

"She?"

"The girl—the demon!"

"I—No." Sam lied, because he did remember. And Dean had heard what he'd said back to it. He must have understood.

"Don't lie to me." Dean growled, and before Sam could form a reply, Dean's hands were cupping his face and he was kissing Sam roughly.

The demon had been right. His soul was damned, Sam thought as Dean continued to kiss him. 

X

Since Dean doesn't seem to be talkative at the moment, Sam passes the time by counting blue cars that they pass on the road. He usually can't play the game since Dean tends to favor more secluded roads where there aren't as many cars, for whatever reason. When he counts twenty-five blue cars, he gets bored and starts watching the exit signs, the ones that tell you whether there's a McDonalds or a Burger King to eat at.

Sam realizes he's starving.

"Hey you want to stop at like the Burger King that's off the next exit?"

"It's out of the way."

"No. It's not."

"I'm in the zone."

"What zone?"

"The highway zone. Shut up."

"But don't you remember all the good times we had at Burger King?" Sam asks.

"No. Name one good time we had there."

Sam already has one in mind, "Well, there was that one time we saw the kid puke, and they had to get someone out there to clean it up, and you laughed at the little boy who screamed like a girl when he saw it."

Dean thinks for a minute, "Okay, we can go to Burger King."

X

"_Do they hurt?" Sam's shirt is off and he's lying down on the bed, and God he hates lying on these comforters. You don't know what's on them. _

"Do they hurt?" Dean asks again, touching the cuts on Sam's chest. They're an angry shade of red, and Sam knows it'll be awhile until these cuts fade into pink scars. He knows that they'll fade eventually, but it's going to take a long time. Wounds like these always do.

"No, they're okay." Sam says quietly, wishing Dean would just stop touching _him, because it's making him want to squirm._

"Boy, she really did a number on you, didn't she?" Dean murmurs, his hands still on Sam's chest.

"I just have to keep them moisturized. They'll heal better that way." Sam says.

Dean nods, "Here, I'll--"

"No. No, that's fine. I'll do it, just let me go to the bathroom first." Dean pulls his hand away as Sam pushes himself off the bed and heads to the bathroom.

When Sam jerks off that night, biting his lip as hard as he can, he thinks about Jess, and not Dean, because it's better to think about your dead girlfriend than your brother's fingers tracing the cuts on your chest. 

X

Sometimes when they check into motels they get looks, raised eyebrows or a knowing smirk. Sam's used to it, and usually he doesn't bother denying it and neither does Dean, because, who cares? It's not like when they check into the motel together and the clerk smiles suggestively and looks between them, it's something new—and aren't they not supposed to do that? What an asshole—but Dean's quick to say, "We're brothers." And smile easily at the clerk who shrugs as though he couldn't care less.

"Why'd you say that?" Sam asks on the way to their room.

"Say what?"

"That we're brothers."

"Um, because we _are_." Dean says slowly.

"You don't usually say that."

"I don't know, Sam. That look he gave bugged me?" Dean's acting all confused, but Sam bets he did it just to get a rise out of him. He probably thinks it's hilarious that Sam's even noticing this. What a fucker.

"It wasn't any of his business. Usually you don't care what those stupid clerks in these places think."

"Sammy, I really don't see what you're getting at here."

Sam's not really sure himself, but he knows that he wants Dean to admit he did this to upset him, even though he's not sure why it's supposed to upset him since he's the one who never wants anyone to get the wrong idea, usually.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. And don't call me Sammy." Sam consents, but he's still irritated with Dean for the rest of the night.

X

Sam flips through the channels at least twenty times.

"Nothing's on, man. Nothing's going to _be_ on just because you won't put the fucking remote down." Dean says from the other bed, sounding annoyed.

Sam throws the remote down, "I'm going out."

"Me too."

"We can't both go out; we only have one car, genius."

"Yeah, and you know who's not driving it?" Dean stares him down.

"Fine. I'll walk. There's a bar down the road, not far from here."

"Nah. Don't bother. I'd be happy to give you a lift. Not like we're fighting. Not like there's anything to be mad about." Dean doesn't take his eyes away from Sam, challenging him to say anything to that.

"You're right." Sam says, giving a fake, cheerful smile. "Let's go."

It's a short ride, like Sam said the bar is close by, just down the road. But the ride feels cold, and Sam's glad to get out of the car and inside where he can down some nice, cold beer.

Dean heads over to the pool tables, and Sam can't help but roll his eyes. He turns away and tries to stop looking at Dean, but can't help it.

He doesn't even notice when the pretty blonde slides onto the stool next to his. "Hey there." She smiles.

"Hey." He flashes her a quick smile and goes back to watching Dean.

"You must really be into pool." She says to him again, leaning into his space a little.

He looks over at her sharply and blinks. "Not really, no."

She laughs, "You've been watching the game since you got here. I've been trying to get you to send me a drink all night."

Sam half-laughs half-says, "That's awfully…sweet of you."

"Forward you mean, and yeah, I'm Tara."

"Tara, hi. I'm Sam."

"So that guy over there, he's a pretty good pool player, isn't he?"

"Who?" Sam feigns ignorance.

She doesn't buy it, "The one you've been watching all night. Cute guy with the leather jacket and the short, brown hair. You know him?"

Sam shrugs, "Only since I was born."

Tara looks confused.

"My brother." 

"Oh." She squints, "I don't see the resemblance."

Sam cracks up, "No one does."

She grins then says, "You see the brunette over there? The one with her hair up?" Sam nods. "That's my friend Michelle. She's been chatting him up all night. You know, she hates pool. Worst player ever. She says she takes pride in that because then she can get cute guys like your brother to teach her."

"Sounds like a brilliant plan. It looks like it's working on Dean."

Tara smiles, "You in town for a while?"

Sam shakes his head, "Nah. I think we're leaving tomorrow." He feels flattered when Tara gives him a disappointed look.

"Where're you from?" She asks.

"Vermont." Sam has no idea why he said that. Just, Vermont seemed like a place far enough away from here.

"Oh. I hear it's pretty up there, especially in winter."

"It is." He assures her, having no idea what Vermont looks like at all, save for some pictures he's seen.

Sam sees Dean and Michelle from the corner of his eye. She's touching his chest flirtatiously, grinning and looking up at him through her eyelashes. Dean looks over at him suddenly and grins. Sam doesn't return it, and he frowns when Dean gives him a wave and mouths 'you can walk, can't you?' to him and stars heading towards the door.

Michelle runs over and whispers something in Tara's ear. They both laugh and Michelle follows after Dean and out the door.

Sam spends most of the night at the bar with Tara. He saw Dean having sex once when he was a teenager. He doesn't want to see it again.

X

"_How are your eyes?" Dean asks him worriedly._

"They're fine; they hurt a little, but they're okay." Sam closes his eyes and touches his eyelids. He tries to imagine being blind, but a world of darkness with sound all around him makes him feel cold, so he opens his eyes again, grateful for the light.

"Here, let me see," Dean insists, brushing Sam's hands away and letting his thumb rub the soft skin underneath Sam's lower lashes. Sam's head jerks a little at the shock of Dean's fingers; they're cold, and Sam feels exposed as Dean looks carefully into his eyes, which is absurd, Sam tells himself. Dean can't read him the way he can read Dean, or else Dean would have understood why he'd left him and his life in exchange for college and stability.

"They're a little red," Dean says quietly, and why it sounds like he's saying something else, something more, Sam can't say. "But they look okay."

"I told you."

Dean doesn't remove his fingers, though. His thumbs stroke gently right under Sam's eyes, and God he's sensitive there. Dean's other fingers are resting on his temple now, and they're cold too. Sam shivers.

Dean's eyes haven't left his.

"Dean--"Sam starts as Dean face moves closer until their lips are touching. For one split, short second Dean stays still, his lips barely on Sam's, just brushing. Sam's lips tingle. And then suddenly Dean's hands move and hold Sam's face firmly, and Dean is kissing him. Dean's had a lot of practice kissing because he's good, Sam thinks, but then once his mind has had time to settle—just as Dean's hands have left his eyes and are slipping under his shirt—he shoves Dean backwards with more force than he intended.

They just stare at each other for a few minutes, Dean's expression slowly going from confused to angry. "What the fuck, Sam?"

"Not a freak." Sam says, "I'm not doing this anymore."

X

Sam hates how things can be different, but not, at the same time. It drives him crazy how he knows things aren't right between them, but Dean's not acting different enough that he can say something, that he can fix it. Sam knows that if he doesn't do something soon Dean and him are going to end up like Sam's old shirt. The one that had a tiny hole it in that Sam thought wouldn't get bigger. Only, the hole had, and in the end he had to throw the shirt away.

He doesn't want to throw Dean away again.

X

They leave town the next day, like Sam told Tara they would, and they drive until nightfall when Dean promptly finds the nearest bar, parks, and heads inside to play pool. Sam doesn't follow. Instead, he unfolds the paper they bought earlier in the day—he's been saving it for now so he'd have something to do besides watch Dean hustle pool—and starts looking for something to _do_, because really that's what it's about for him right now. Something to move them along from this boring routine they've fallen into. Every day's the fucking same, it seems.

Sam's been dying for some fresh air since the afternoon, so he climbs out of the car and takes a deep breath of the cool, night air. He exhales, leans against the hood of the car, and opens the newspaper.

At one point, he notices a guy walk by and wink at him, but he's not really sure why until Dean walks outside about an hour later. "Anything?" He asks, coming towards the car, a smile spreading across his face.

Sam looks up at him and returns the smile, "Think so."

Dean starts snickering uncontrollably.

"What?" Sam demands.

"It's just—"

"Just what?"

"Just, what's up with the hooker-pose, Sammy?"

Sam chokes, "The what?"

Dean cracks up, "Yeah, what's up with the way you're leaning on the car? Open for business? I can't believe you give me shit for hustling pool when you're out here hustling yourself."

"I think prostitution would be more honest work than hustling pool." Sam sneers, trying to get into the spirit of things.

Dean just laughs, and for the rest of the night he keeps muttering, "hooker-pose," and then laughing to himself. 

X

_It probably would have been better if they'd had the fight while they were on the road. Before they'd settled down to live in one place, where Sam could finish up high school without switching schools. It'd have been harder to get kicked out of a hotel room._

It had been a tiny house, a house that screamed of being temporary, not a place to bring friends home to. They weren't usually there on weekends, anyway, and at night Sam usually was working on his homework. It wasn't like he didn't have friends,' cause he did. Just, he always told them it'd be better if they went to their place, or if they went to a movie or the football game instead of hanging out at his house. Wasn't like he was a girl and had sleepovers.

He especially didn't bring girlfriends-- of the friend variety as well as the romantic kind-- back to the house, because Dean was that one guy you didn't want hanging around your girlfriend or girl friend. Or some of your guy friends, which would have been even weirder than the girlfriends.

On Friday night they tended to pack up the car and head out to wherever they were needed. Sam missed Monday's sometimes, occasionally Tuesdays as well. But there were weekends where he stayed home. There wasn't always a fight, but when there was, it was usually on the far side of ugly. Usually Dean tried to intervene, but that never really stopped the onslaught of callous and bitter comments coming from both sides. Some of the time, instead of trying to stop it, Dean would start fighting, too, but Sam had stopped hoping Dean would be on his side.

The older he got, and the more control Sam realized he had over his life, the more he ended up staying home when he needed too—even when his dad fought with him on it. It always put a damper on his weekend when they fought, though.

Most kids would be thrilled to have the house to themselves, but it wasn't like Sam was going to throw a party or something. The house was too small for one. But mostly he wasn't lying when he said he had work to do.

Despite all the fighting, Sam still went along with it all when he had to, because he knew that soon he was going to go to college. Soon he wasn't going to be stuck there.

But as the end of his senior year approached, Sam started to get scared. It wasn't the leaving part that was making his stomach twist, though. It was thinking about breaking it to his father and Dean that was making him feel slightly nauseous.

He knew a fight was inevitable. One bigger than all the ones regarding his weekend whereabouts. It was only a matter of time. 

X

Dean slapped his butt. Dean fucking slapped his butt _in front of other people_. That is not proper brother etiquette at all.

He also called him 'honey' which is another matter entirely.

He did this on purpose, Sam thinks angrily, just like the thing with the clerk. Only this was just _cruel_ and extremely unusual.

The unfairness of it all swirls around in Sam's head, but he tries to play it cool so the realtor doesn't like have an aneurism or something. She looks like someone who would easily be offended by male butt-slapping. She also looks like someone who would be very good at hiding the fact that she was offended.

Sam's about to say something, to change the unspoken subject of butt-slapping and a guy calling him honey, when he sees a tarantula—a fucking _tarantula_—crawling on the table towards surprisingly-composed-realtor-lady.

And that's what leads him to Matt. Matt who Sam should probably not think is cute, because he's sixteen and is probably somehow behind all this, and did Sam mention he's sixteen?

But his love for bugs is just endearing, and he reminds Sam of himself, only he's not that geeky, right? Well, don't ask Dean that question, anyway. And _his_ father isn't proud of him either.

Really, Sam can't be blamed for maybe smiling at the kid a little too much and for not stamping on the kid's obvious attraction to him. It is obvious, isn't it?

X

_The day Sam finally has to go ahead and tell his father about his scholarship, about college, about his plan, is a day that Sam has been hoping wouldn't come. He's waited until the last possible day, last possible minute, to tell his father—and the really really last minute to tell Dean—and now he regrets it._

There's been a sense of foreboding around him all day. This isn't going to end well, he knows.

He finds his father in his room, sitting at his desk, scrawling notes about banshees in his notebook. When Sam enters, he puts his pen down. "Sam." He says quietly, and he looks at Sam expectantly, and Sam knows that his Dad knows that Sam's about to tell him something he doesn't want to hear. Sam's been telling him enough things he doesn't want to hear for him to know the signs.

"Dad," He starts slowly; he's practiced this, but somehow none of the words seem right. It's going to come out all wrong, he can tell. There's no possible way he can win, so he jumps right in. "I got a scholarship, Dad. A free ride through college. Stanford. I'll pay for all my living expenses, I've saved up some money, I'll get another job. I really want this, Dad."

His father doesn't say anything, so he plows on. "I know you and Dean aren't going to want me to go, but this is something I have to do. I want to be—" He doesn't say 'normal' like he was going to, because that always makes his father furious. He usually only says that to Dean—who gets mad as well, but most of the time that's what he's going for—but not his father, unless the fight gets really bad. "I want to be a lawyer, I think I'd be good at it. It's something I want to try out."

"Does your brother know about this?" His father asks, and Sam blinks. He's acting too calm right now.

"No. I haven't told him yet. I wanted to talk to you first. If you're okay with it, then Dean might be too—you know him. If I told him first he'd probably punch me, and if I told you together he'd interrupt, and I don't think I can handle both of you screaming at me right now."

Sam hates when his dad does this—doesn't say anything, just lets his eyes bore into him. It makes Sam crazy, that no mater how much he explains all this, no matter how calm he is, and no matter how important this is to him, his father doesn't get it.

"I have to do this." He says again.

"Why? Is this life not good enough for you? Sam, I know you want a normal life, but you're never going to have one. Not after what happened to your mother. What if something comes after you? I can't protect you if—"

"I don't need you to protect me! If something comes after me, fine. I'll take care of it myself. But nothing will. Plenty of people lead lives without things coming after them. I can be one of those people." Sam can hear himself pleading now. He wants out of this, and he wants out of this now.

It's the quietest fight they've ever had, but the next words out of his father's mouth are some of the harshest he's ever said. "You want to leave, Sam? Fine. But don't bother coming back."

His father has never once kicked him out before. Not even threatened it. That's how Sam knows it's over. That he's won.

But it doesn't feel like he's won. 

X

"Dude, I can't believe we have this place to ourselves!" Dean's practically squealing with excitement when they get inside the empty house.

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome." Sam says, trying (and failing) to keep the wistful note out of his voice. He's always dreamed about living in a house like this. One that wouldn't scream _temporary!_, one that his wife could decorate, one that his kids could have their own rooms in. Oh, and not to mention there's a steam shower, which, Sam has to admit, is pretty awesome. Who wouldn't want all of that?

Dean, that's who. Except for the steam shower, of course, because not even Dean is immune to its powers. Especially not Dean.

Sam starts heading back down the stairs, but stops and looks towards Dean when he realizes Dean isn't coming.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to take a shower, what do you think?"

"Right." Sam says, and goes back downstairs. He stretches out on the couch in the living room. They're lucky that the place is fully furnished, Sam thinks, staring up at the ceiling, a small feeling of anticipation creeping through him as he does. He turns to his side, scared his eyes will start to play tricks on him. 

The house is fully furnished, he thinks again, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to push out the memories, the images that are flashing before him. The house is fully furnished, but it still feels empty. Like a person without a soul, just an empty shell.

He gets up abruptly and goes to check out the scanner, to see if they've intercepted any police calls that might be related to the case. 

X

"_Hi," She says, holding her hand out. "I'm Jess."_

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam." She smiles, and when she turns to go say hi to a friend of hers, Sam catches a whiff of her perfume. She smells lemony and somehow sweet. He knows he's going to love this girl.

X

The first thought Sam has when he and Dean are driving away from Oasis Plains is that he probably shouldn't have let Matt give him that blowjob while they were upstairs closing off any open holes. Not that he hadn't liked it, just that, well, it doesn't make him feel that good to know he's becoming more and more like Dean everyday. Especially not when Dean is a dishonest liar who has a lot of sex. Good sex, but also slutty sex. Sam is not a slut and he prides himself on that. Dean is exactly the opposite.

He, also unlike Sam, trades sex stories on a regular basis. Usually, though it's not so much a trade as it is a one sided telling from Dean about his sexual exploits. Sam does admit that he gets a kick out of them from time to time, but also he ends up feeling like he needs a shower. Damn, he should have tried out that steam shower. Dean won't fucking shut up about how great it was.

"So, did I detect some awkward flirting going on between and you and that kid before we left?" Dean asks casually.

"No." Sam scowls, face reddening.

"Oh no," Dean groans, "You didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Aw man, you _did_. You know you could go to jail for that."

"Dean!"

"He was kind of cute, I guess, in a geeky sort of way, but seriously, Sam. He's sixteen."

Sam's not going to dignify that with an answer. He's not. Punching Dean's arm is not an answer.

"Hey! Watch it, I'm driving here. You want me to have an accident?"

X

"Sam,"

"Yeah?"

"You know how I told you that sometimes Dad went to go check on you at Stanford?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes," Dean starts, "Sometimes I did too." Sam glances at Dean's knuckles, they're white as he grips the steering wheel. It reminds Sam briefly of clinging on for dear life. He's about to tell Dean something, something like 'don't do this' or maybe something more like 'I know', because he hadn't known, but somehow the way Dean had said it before—He had sounded like there was something more he wasn't saying.

Sam had thought that after he left his father had shut him out completely. He hadn't known he'd been checking up on him. He _had_ suspected Dean might have been as well, on his own time, but he hadn't wanted to hope that.

"Dean," Sam says quietly, and reaches a hand out to hold Dean's arm.

Dean mutters, "Fuck," and pulls the car over. He pulls Sam close to him and kisses him fiercely, hands tangled in Sam's hair. "Why do you do this to me?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know how to say that Dean's got it all wrong; it's the other way around.

Dean kisses him for the longest time, like he never wants to let go, and Sam doesn't push him away.

End

Notes: I'd like to thank **wistfulfever** for the "hooker-pose" Haha loves

Feedback would be all kinds of wonderful.


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